


Homemade Fresh

by Pyrasaur



Category: Wreck-It Ralph (2012)
Genre: Bonding, F/M, Family Dinners, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyrasaur/pseuds/Pyrasaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calhoun's idea of a meal was a field ration to gulp down and forget about. Then she met Felix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homemade Fresh

     She never thought much about food before. It was fuel, plain and simple. Stick a field ration in your mouth and swallow so you could keep going, keep being strong. 

     Her code said she had dined in fancy restaurants. She couldn't remember tasting anything. That hadn't been the point; _he_ was the point, and thinking in that direction made her stomach turn.

     Farther away from those memories, less solid but there for the grasping, her code gave her impressions of mess halls. Those were the same idea as the field rations. Practical. She liked the mess halls better: a hot mess on a metal tray and some banter with fellow soldiers that had been the part worth savouring.

     Calhoun didn't think much about food. Then she met Fix-It. 

 

     He was so excited to have her over for dinner the first time. He kept their hands tight-laced together as they walked past pruned rows of shrubs, his face lit up with honeyglows as bright as a beacon.  
     "Gosh," he chattered, "it's swell that you made it for dinner. Wait 'til you taste our pie!"  
     He cared about things, her Fix-It. Probably thinking right now that golly, he could put anything in his chewhole and it'd taste like sunshine and wholesomeness as long as he was eating it with his special gal! There was nothing familiar about this; it made Calhoun smile.

     He introduced her to all the pleasant little Nicelanders, and pulled out her chair like a gentleman. A love-worn wooden chair. White tablecloth and flowered china plates.  
     It was her first time at a dinner table, Calhoun thought with seasick clarity. Not a mess hall table, not some overpriced restaurant, but a family table in a home. She wished her code had more answers for her; she sat and her knees hit the table. 

     And then came the pie. A thick wedge that Felix cut from a steaming hot, real pie — like on Earth, her code suggested. This wasn't apple pie, though. It was something stickier-looking. And she wasn't sure she remembered how to chew, with Felix beaming at her like that, but Calhoun picked up a fancy-patterned silver fork and tried a bite.  
     "How about that? It's our secret recipe. Can't tell ya what's in it." Felix squirmed and blurted, "Actually, the secret is Georgia pecans. Can't beat 'em!"  
     It was rich and syrupy and real, more present than anything she had ever known. Just like Felix. He cared about things, her Fix-it. People and propriety, and where his food came from. Calhoun swallowed and felt full in a way she'd never known.  
     "If you eat like this all the time," she said, yanking Fix-It close to ruffle his hair, "s'no wonder you're so sweet."


End file.
